I Could Have Done More
by Madamoiselle Maxine Chatterly
Summary: 9 year old Bruno followed his friend into hell, and has returned. Now, he has to build his life from the ground up. The only place he remembers, however vaguely, is the house he left 9 years ago. He has no choice but to go back. But is anyone there?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The gate was tall, with wires curling in spirals at the top. Beyond the gate, there was utter silence. With grim satisfaction, Bruno watched the sun set behind the huts and the gate. No one was inside. No one had been inside for a while. That was all fine with Bruno. He'd never wish the torment that still haunted the deserted little village on anyone, except of course the people who caused that horror.

_Bastard Germans_, he thought. Then, with a pang, he remembered that he too was German. _No ,_he thought fiercely, _I have nothing to do with them. As far as I know, I'm Jewish, and I have nothing to do with them. I have nothing to do with them. Nothing._

His hands clenched into tight fists, unclenched, and clenched again. He fought the anger and the bile and the tears that cried for release, and turned his back on the gate and the huts and the memories of rancid emaciated prisoners with sunken dead eyes and bloodless thirsty lips. He took a deep breath, turned, and walked to the looming three story house that registered only vaguely in his mind. He made his way through the garden that still was as beautiful as it was before, so long ago, so, so very long ago. A feeling of apprehension surged inside of him, causing him to falter for a moment. He shook it off, and continued, taking in everything around him.

The back door was open. A woman was sweeping out a small pile of dust. As Bruno watched her sweep the dust out and go back and start again, a wave of recognition pulsed in his brain. He knew her. What was her name?

He walked closer. The recognition grew stronger. _What was her name? _

The woman looked up, startled, and then let out a shriek. Bruno put up his hands and slowed his walk. The woman backed away, obviously afraid, but didn't stop him from entering the house. Bruno walked through, and smiled grimly when he found that he remembered everything perfectly. He remembered every corner, every nook and cranny , every hallway he had explored when he had lived in the house. He stopped in front of the staircase, remembering his foolish discomfort when he was a boy at having to live in the three story building. He chuckled to himself, remembering that he had been disappointed that the house was only three stories and not five, like his previous house in Berlin. His chuckle came out like the hoarse rattle of branches in the wind.

"Oh my…"

Bruno whipped around to find the sweeping woman standing behind him, tears slipping down her cheeks, a trembling hand to her cheek.

"Bruno?" She took a tentative step forward, her eyes imploring and hopeful.

_Maria_. Bruno nodded, but said nothing. He remembered her. She had been the maid to the family, and very kind to him. _Just like family .Although father said she was just overpaid, _remembered Bruno with a bitter smile.

Maria stepped closer and placed a trembling hand to his cheek. Bruno saw the marks of age on her face, and wondered how old his parents looked.

"Bruno?" Maria looked a little afraid. "Do-do you remember me?"

Her voice was full of emotion. It touched Bruno that she remembered him so well, and that she had missed him.

"Yes, Maria. I remember you." Bruno's voice was quiet, like the whisper of leaves. He hadn't spoken in so long. Not since –

"Oh, Bruno!" Maria, the not-part-of-the-family-maid, threw her arms around him and proceeded to bawl like a baby. Bruno barely stopped his own tears. In a split second of disconnection, he found the whole scene quite funny; Maria, the old proper maid, sobbing like a child who had lost a cherished teddy bear. Quite funny, indeed.

"Maria, please," gasped Bruno as she squeezed him tight. "I'm not going to vanish into thin air."

At this last sentence, Maria began to cry harder. _Shit. Great job, Bruno, _thought Bruno. He sat her down on the first step of the stair. When she finished sobbing, she asked him where he had been.

He didn't answer her. "I'll tell you soon. Where's my family?"

At this, Maria stood up quickly and said, "Bruno, are you hungry?"

Bruno's eyes narrowed. "Maria."

"Bruno?"

"Where are they?"

Maria sighed and said, "Come and have a bite first."

Bruno followed her to the kitchen. "How did you know it was me?"

Maria laughed. Bruno remembered sharply how her laugh used to be so light. Now, it seemed so…tired? Bruno pushed the thought out of his head.

"Bruno, you always had a good memory." _Bullshit. I forgot my best friends' names. Good memory? Ha,_ Bruno thought bitterly.

Maria turned and smiled at him. "Cold stuffed chicken?"

Bruno looked down at his hands. "I don't know."

Maria's smile faltered. She looked worried, sad, and confused at the same time. Bruno continued to look at his hands. "Well, I'll fix you something new and special. What do you say?"

Bruno nodded. She smiled once more, and turned to the stove, opening cabinets and yanking down ingredients. Maria was talking to him as if he was still…how old was he when he first moved? _Oh, right. Nine years old._ _It's been that long? _ Bruno felt a sharp stab of sadness at the thought of how many years he had lost. How many years he and Shmuel–

"Do you like tomatoes, Bruno?"

Bruno jumped out of his skin. "Erm…sure," he responded quickly. Maria turned around and handed him a glistening white plate. He looked at it, not quite understanding what it was for a few seconds. He hadn't seen a plate in so long. _Always trays. Gray, dull trays._

A second after, he recoiled in shock. The plate hit the table with a loud _Chink! _

_Is that…me? _ He looked once more at the plate, unaware that Maria was watching him. The face that stared back at him was not a face. It was a skull. It was a skull with a film of graying skin stretched over it. His eyes seemed to large for his face, and his lips were bloodless. His teeth seemed to protrude from the rest of his skull, giving him the appearance of a thin dying animal. Blond hair framed his ghastly visage. In disbelief, he lifted his hand to touch one of his cheeks, and as he did so, the poor creature staring back at him from the plate imitated him. One bony, trembling, skeletal hand touched one bony, protruding cheekbone. A wave of grief flooded him. He remembered so well. He remembered him so very well.

"Here," Maria said gently. She brought another plate over with the sandwich she had made for him. She took the other away. "I'll give you some privacy," she said softly and, after touching one of his bony cheeks, she walked out of the room.

Bruno watched his own bony hands pick up the sandwich. He remembered.

"_Shmuel!" he said. "What are you doing here?"_

_Shmuel looked up and his terrible face broke into a broad smile when he saw his friend standing there. "Bruno!" he said._

"_What are you doing here?" repeated Bruno._

"_He brought me," said Shmuel._

"_He? You don't mean Lieutenant Kotler ?"_

"_Yes. He said there was a job for me to do here."_

With a grim smile, Bruno remembered seeing Shmuel with the small glasses his mother used to use when she was having one of her sherries. He remembered being astonished at the job Shmuel was doing. It wasn't so surprising now, though. Not after all he'd been through. But it was then that he'd noticed Shmuel's hands.

"_How did it get like that?" asked Bruno, looking at Shmuel's hands._

"_I don't know, " said Shmuel. "It used to look more like yours, but I didn't notice it changing. Everyone on my side of the fence looks like that now."_

They had been nine years old then, from different sides of life. Yet, despite everything Bruno had, and everything Shmuel didn't, Shmuel seemed years older than him. They had been nine years old, just boys, two young boys, thrown into a punishing world they had done nothing to deserve. They had been nine years old.

A door opening in the hallway jerked Bruno out of his reverie. He pushed away the anger and grief that surged through him and ate his sandwich. He hadn't had food as good as that since he had been trapped in Auschwitz. 'Out-With', he had called it. This thought launched him into a fit of laughter. His laugh came out like the whistling breath of a partially crushed dog. This thought made him cry. He didn't even realize that he was crying until Maria rushed in to make sure he was okay. He nodded and wiped his tears. He thanked her for the sandwich and rose, intending to leave. Maria protested fiercely and he found himself in his old room, watching helplessly as Maria bustled about fixing him his bed. He had never realized how wide his bed was. As a boy, he really hadn't realized how much surplus he had of possessions, much less their quality or what it might have meant to a less fortunate person. After Auschwitz, however, his priorities had been reevaluated. He had been forced to save his food in nooks and crannies to make sure that he would have food if the soldiers decided to let all the prisoners starve. His meals had been terrible, and at first, it had been hard for him to adjust. But he adjusted. _Adjust, or die. It's that simple, _he thought.

Maria coaxed him into the bed and closed the door. The softness of his mattress had him feeling extremely uncomfortable. He was so used to the hard mats of Auschwitz.

Bruno rolled out of the bed and lay down on the floor. He closed his eyes and drifted in a fitful sleep full of running skeletons and soldiers with wild psychotic grins and partially crushed dog laughter.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When Bruno awoke, it took him a few minutes to figure out where he was. It had been like that for weeks since the Auschwitz prisoners had been released. Well, those that had survived anyway. Most of them dropped off after the first few weeks, some from illness, some from beatings, some who dropped off for no reason at all.

Bruno shook is head and cleared his thoughts. He stood up from the floor and took a deep breath. His eyes scanned the room, and he vaguely remembered the previous evening. He ran a bony finger over the armoire and the thick layer of dust came off on his fingers.

Six years' worth of dust. Six horrible, life sucking years' worth of thick dust. He turned around and saw a small window. He took a look and felt his throat close up.

The sun had begun to peek over the tops of small huts and structures that were encircled by a wire gate. The wires curled into a spiral at the top.

Auschwitz.

It felt odd to Bruno, being on the other side of that wire gate. Like he was having an out of body experience. Then, a vivid memory came to him.

"_Who are the people outside?"_

_Father tilted his head to the left, looking a little confused by the question. "Soldiers, Bruno," he said. "And secretaries. Staff workers. You've seen them all before of course."_

"_No, not them," said Bruno. "The people I see from my window. In the huts, in the distance. They're all dressed the same."_

"_Ah, those people," said Father, nodding his head and smiling slightly. "Those people…well, they're not people at all, Bruno." _

Bruno's hands balled into fists. He thought about everything he'd been through and everything he'd seen, and he found himself hating his father for what had happened. His hatred was quickly dispelled by shame. It wasn't his father's fault.

Or was it?

Bruno paced back and forth, back and forth, again and again, consumed in thought. His father had surely known what was going on in Auschwitz-Birkenau; why did his father allow it to happen? He could have told the soldiers to ease up, to treat the prisoners civily.

Bruno turned and paced back.

But he didn't. He didn't do anything at all. With a stab of sadness, Bruno remembered his grandmother. Not her face; he could never bring that up, even if he tried. He remembered her voice, her personality.

"_I wonder – is this where I went wrong with you, Ralf?" Grandmother said. "I wonder if all the performances I made you give as a boy led you to this. Dressing up like a puppet on a string."_

"_Now, Mother," said Father in a tolerant voice. "You know this isn't the time."_

"_Standing there in your uniform," she continued, "as if it makes you something special. Not even caring what it means really. What it stands for."_

Bruno shut his eyes. _What it stands for. _Bruno knew well what it stood for. He had seen the proud glint in the soldiers' eyes when they ordered poor young boys to run in the freezing cold; when they looked over the starving masses of living skeletons.

How could his father not have seen what it all stood for?

Bruno stopped pacing and looked out the window once more. He wondered if his father felt guilty about the brutality he had allowed, possibly even condoned, at the concentration camp.

The door to his old dusty room opened, and Maria stepped through.

"Bruno," she started.

"Where is my family?" Bruno thought back to his life before Auschwitz and remember his mother and father telling him something about not interrupting grown-ups. _Ha, _he thought, _look at me, mama, breaking all the rules. _

Maria fidgeted with the cloth of her dress. "Bruno, there is something I need to tell you."

"Who died?"

Maria's eyes widened. Bruno wasn't surprised. He knew she had expected him to hope for the best. But that sentence always alerted Bruno to death. He had heard the soldiers say that same sentence to one of the other inmates to cover up the fact that they murdered his brother for a gold piece he had hidden. They told him his brother killed himself with one of the doctors' tools, so fuck him and good riddance because, Lord knew, Germany didn't need conniving heebs anyway. _Lord knew, _thought Bruno, and the phrase echoed threw his brain. 

Maria shook her head. "Heavens, no, Bruno. No one is dead. You father and your mother have separated."

Bruno let out a breath, relieved. Then, as the news sunk in, Bruno asked, "When? Why?"

Maria sighed and said gently, "Bruno, you should get ready for breakfast."

"Tell me why, at least."

Maria left the room swiftly and returned with pile of clothes, muttering about Bruno needing it for his stay until they went out to buy more.

"Maria," Bruno said sharply. She turned.

"Bruno?"

"Why won't you tell me why?"

"You aren't healthy enough."

Bruno closed his eyes and waited for patience. Patience, however, was taking its good time.

"I have a right to know."

Maria sighed and said, "After breakfast."

"No," snapped Bruno, his voice getting louder. " Now."

"Bruno," Maria said gently, her old face patient, as always. "I think what you need to focus on is getting ready, and eating breakfast. In fact, I think you should just focus on getting your health back."

She paused, and her eyes filled with tears. "You're so thin," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You used to be so healthy."

"I'm just fine, Maria," he said curtly. He instantly regretted that when the tears in her eyes pooled over and she left.

He cursed and began getting ready for breakfast. He might as well try and oblige Maria as best he could.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Bruno walked down to the dining room without even registering where his legs were taking him. He remembered something one of his friends had told him a few months before he had left Berlin. Why he remembered it, he didn't know, and he didn't honestly care. Just as long as he remembered something, he was fine.

As his legs continued taking him along the hallway, he remembered the words:

"_A good explorer never forgets places explored."_

_Don't I know it, _he thought bitterly. His exploring had led him into a lot of messy spots, including his six year incarceration in Auschwitz.

As he turned a corner, he caught sight of Maria bustling about with a tray of food, no doubt his breakfast.

"Maria," he called after her. She turned, and Bruno's felt his cheeks burn with shame when she smiled a motherly smile at him.

"Yes? Did you wash your hands?" Bruno rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Maria. I'm sorry about raising my voice upstairs." And he was. He truly was. He had always been respectful to Maria when he had lived in the house. There was no reason that should change.

"It's quite alright, Bruno. I have kids of my own you know. I'm used to a little back talk."

"But not from me," said Bruno, more to himself. It made him feel even worse that she hadn't scolded him. After all those years in Auschwitz, he should have the decency to thank her for her kindness.

"Bruno," she said, cutting into his thoughts, "you never told me."

"Told you what?" Bruno took the tray out of her hand. _Trays. Always trays._

"Where you've been."

Bruno, who had been walking towards the dining room, or, rather, being carried by his legs to the dining room, stopped in his tracks.

He stood there for a few minutes, deciding whether to tell her or not. He decided not to.

He placed the tray on the dining room table gently. He didn't want Maria to think he was angry.

"Bruno?"

Bruno turned, and one look into Maria's eyes told him she was piecing things together.

"You know where I've been."

He turned and sat. Picked up the bread on his plate and pulled off a piece; ate it. He repeated the process over and over again, until Maria left. It hurt him not to trust her, but he wasn't ready. Not yet. He wasn't ready to tell her everything.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

When Bruno finished his breakfast, he went searching for Maria. He needed to know what happened to his family. Where were they?

"Maria," he called out through the empty house. "Where are you?"

"In your room," came the answer, and he went up the stairs.

Maria was dusting the furniture when he entered. A cloud of dust turned in the air.

"Maria, I finished breakfast."

When she neglected to respond, Bruno urged her further. "Can you tell me what happened with my parents?"

Maria continued dusting as if he had never spoken. Bruno felt himself grow more irate and impatient.

"Maria!" he said sharply, and Maria turned around.

"Alright, Bruno, alright! Just give me a moment to gather my thoughts."

_You had yesterday to organize your thoughts, _thought Bruno, but he remained silent, waiting for her to begin.

"You were gone for quite some time," she began, sitting down on the bed and motioning for Bruno to do the same. When he did, she continued.

"At first, everything was fine; well, as fine as things could be while there was a missing child. Then, about a year after your disappearance, your sister -"

"Gretel," Bruno interrupted, pleased that he could actually remember her name.

"Yes," said Maria, smiling sadly, "Gretel, began to adopt weird habits. We'd take her to her room and wait until she was asleep to leave, and the next morning, she'd be in your room, with no memory of how she got there. Sleepwalking, the doctors said. They told her to get a lot of exercise and eat healthy, which is what all doctors would say. And for a while it worked. But a few weeks later, she started up again. She began skipping meals, saying that she ate. And I believe," Maria said, her voice sad, "that Gretel knew what had happened to you. She went to your father and said that you had met a Shmuel, and that you were in the concentration camp," Maria paused, apparently waiting for a denial. Bruno smiled ruefully. _Gretel was always very bright, always knew it all._

Maria sighed and continued, "However, your father dismissed her guess as desperation, and when she pressed the matter, he sent her to her room, only, she didn't go. She ran down the stairs to the gates of Auschwitz yelling for you. It took the combined strength of Kotler and your father to pry her fingers off the gates. After that incident, she really didn't speak much. Your father and mother tried very much to get her to speak to them, and eventually she did, but her answers were very short. She never slept in her room anymore. She slept in yours, because your parents had given up on keeping her out. Then one morning, she wasn't there."

"She ran away?" Bruno felt the first rush of grief flood through him.

Maria shook her head. "No. We found her sleeping next to the gate. Your mother nearly died of shock when she couldn't find Gretel.

"After that, things went downhill. The dinner table was always silent, and if it wasn't, it was because your mother and father were arguing. Gretel stopped coming down to dinner altogether, and when she did, it was with a look of utter contempt and loneliness. Your mother began to blame your father for destroying the family, for making you run away and Gretel go half insane. Things finally got so bad that your mother packed up and left with Gretel. Your father stayed here and continued to oversee the concentration camp. And it's been like this for four years now."

Bruno looked down at his feet, unable to meet Maria's eyes. Gretel had figured it out, and it had practically killed her.

"Why didn't Father believe Gretel?"

"Should he have?" Maria answered, her eyes searching. Bruno stood abruptly, and began to pace back and forth.

"It's true then. You were in a concentration camp." Maria stood and took hold of his shoulders to stop him from pacing.

"Auschwitz-Birkenau."

"God." Maria released him and sat down wearily upon the bed. She hid her face in the palms of her hands.

"I'm okay, Maria," he said, hoping that would keep her from crying, because he never liked it when people cried. It made him feel helpless, and he'd had enough of that at Auschwitz.

"And what's your definition of 'okay' Bruno? Thin as a pole, starved to death?" Maria's voice rose.

"Alive," answered Bruno simply. Maria let out a shuddering sigh and shook her head.

"You seem so old, Bruno. You aren't okay. You're malnourished and you've seen things that not even some soldiers have seen. Experienced things that most people don't even think about in their dreams."

"I know. But I'm alive, and that's enough for now."

"Tell me, Bruno," whispered Maria. "Did you forgive them?"

"Who?"

"The soldiers."

Bruno, who always tried to be honest with himself, thought for a moment. Did he forgive them? Maybe. For Shmuel? "No," he answered, "No, I don't forgive them. I don't know if I ever will, but I'd like nothing more than to watch them suffer."

"I agree." There was a dark look glittering in Maria's eyes. " I agree."

"Maria," asked Bruno tentatively, "did you know anyone in Auschwitz? Other than me?"

"No." She stood up quickly and went to the door. She turned, began to say something, seemed to think better of it, and left Bruno to his thoughts.

_Pavel,_ thought Bruno. _She knew Pavel. What happened to him? _Bruno shook his head and dismissed the thought. It was Maria's business, after all. Another thought popped into his mind.

Why hadn't Maria asked for details?

_She knew I wasn't ready, _Bruno answered himself. He decided he'd go exploring. He hadn't done that in a while, and it had been so long since he had been in the house that there must be something he couldn't recall subconsciously to memory.

His first destination: Father's study.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Father's study was always off limits. Bruno remembered that very well, because it had always been a source of wonder and mild irritation. "Off-Limits-And-No-Exceptions" was what he had always called it.

Now, as he walked down to the second floor of the three-story house, he chuckled and tried to imagine what his mother and father would have said back then if he went exploring in the study. He couldn't remember their faces, but he could remember their voices.

As he approached the door to his father's study, once again he found himself marveling at his own memory. He hadn't even realized that he was walking to his father study. He simply hoped to stumble upon it. He looked at the wood of the door, touched it, and walked in.

He was instantly overwhelmed by a wave of nostalgia. The ceiling was high, the carpet was soft, and the bookcases still towered over him like mountains. The windows, too, were still enormous. As his eyes glimpsed over the room, they landed on an oak desk. With a strong feeling of trepidation (for what, he did not know), Bruno sat behind the desk. He turned in the huge chair to look outside the windows behind him and was mesmerized by the view. He could see the whole of the garden through them.

He turned once more, and found himself facing an armchair. Another wave of nostalgia rushed through him and he found himself wrapped up in a memory not quite as comfortable as the chair he was in.

"_So?" Father asked. "What do you think?"_

"_What do I think?" asked Bruno. "What do I think of what?"_

"_Of your new home. Do you like it?"_

"_No," said Bruno quickly, because he always tried to be honest and knew that if he hesitated for even a moment then he wouldn't have the nerve to say what he really thought. "I think we should go home."_

Bruno felt looming sadness as he remembered how his father's face had fallen slightly.

"_Well, we are at home, Bruno," he said finally in a gentle voice. "Auschwitz is our new home."_

"_But when can we go back to Berlin?"_

"_Come, come, let's have none of that. A home is not a building or a street or a city or something so artificial as bricks and mortar. A home is where one's family is, isn't that right?"_

"_Yes but –"_

"_And our family is here, Bruno. At Auschwitz." _

Bruno was beginning to feel uncomfortable in the room. He heard Maria calling, and he left, as if he were being followed.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

A week passed. Then a month. Maria tended to Bruno well enough, and Bruno began to regain some of the vitality he had had when he was just a child.

He didn't consider himself a child. Not after what he had seen in Auschwitz. And he had seen plenty of things, mind you. Murder, starvation, men huddled in a pool of their own vomit.

He remembered a boy, around nine years old, in his third year at Auschwitz. He had been very tiny, very unhealthy. The soldier had called everyone out into the cold to run. Within a few minutes, the child had grown tired, his breathing labored. The soldiers had kept shouting "_Faster!"_, but the child just couldn't run anymore. Since he couldn't run, the soldiers saw him as a waste, and when everyone had gone to their quarters, a shot rang through the air. That one shot had haunted Bruno for a while.

Whenever he remembered things like these, Bruno always pushed these memories away. As the weeks went by, he tried hard to move on. He couldn't dwell on it forever. He wanted to be free, and he couldn't if he was still in the camp in his mind.

He focused on gaining more weight and getting healthy. This was mostly for Maria, who always treated him as if he were going to snap at the slightest touch.

"You need some weight on you Bruno; it would do you well," she was always insisting, to which he always responded, "Not if I gain too much. You wouldn't want me to roll down the stairs, would you?"

Maria always laughed at that. Bruno loved it when she laughed. It reminded him of Berlin and made him feel like everything was going to be okay. Maria was like a grandmother to him now. He remembered his other grandmother, but she had passed away, and he couldn't much remember her laugh. The only thing he could remember very well about her was her love for theatre and her argument with his father.

Bruno always asked Maria when his father was coming. She simply responded, "Soon."

He wanted to see his father, but was always worried it wasn't for the right reasons. As the days went by, he continually found himself thinking of the argument he would say to his father, the questions he would ask, the responses to his responses. They always were about Auschwitz. It always started with, "How could you not know your own son was at Auschwitz?" His father was always speechless of course, to which he would then add a very dramatic speech about not knowing and suffering and you should have tried to find me. Then his father would say he did try to find him, and Bruno would make a very snappy, witty retort.

Normally, after these little episodes, Bruno would shake his head and feel ashamed, and then feel angry because it wasn't his fault his father was an incompetent fool. Whenever this thought pushed into his mind, which was quite often, Bruno fought it back and found himself slamming doors, partly in anger towards himself, and partly in anger towards his father.

However mad he was at his father, Bruno always tried to find a reason to forgive him. It was his father after all. Maybe his father didn't know it was wrong.

But Bruno knew that his father would never allow that to happen to Gretel or him. So why would he allow it to happen to those children and fathers and grandfathers?

_Maybe he didn't think it was wrong to do it to those people_, Bruno would think to himself. To which he would then respond, _Animals are less than people, and from what I see, they are treated better than we were in Auschwitz._

Bruno began to face his reencounter with his father with apprehension. What if his father had known? What if his father had let it happen to punish him?

When this thought circulated in his mind, Bruno thought back on his life before Auschwitz, and try to find something, anything that might have been justification to allow Bruno to go missing for so long.

Bruno knew it was mostly his fault for sneaking out and exploring the grounds. But they could have made an effort.

Bruno often found himself lying wide awake at night pondering his life and what things may have been like if he hadn't met Shmuel, if he hadn't decided to 'explore'.

After many sleepless nights, he came to the conclusion that he would have been as ignorant and narrow-minded as his father and Kotler.

He decided one day that he'd tell Maria what he thought.

"Maria," he called.

"I'm in you father's study," she called back.

"Maria," began Bruno when he entered, "can I talk to you?"

Maria set down her dusting cloth and smiled at him. "Sure, Bruno. What ails you?"

Bruno told her almost everything, from start to finish. He told her about Auschwitz, about Kotler, about how he was scared to meet his family, his father most of all. He still couldn't tell her about Shmuel. He wasn't ready. Maria listened attentively, and never interrupted.

When he finished, Maria remained silent for quite sometime.

When she spoke, she said, "I once had a fight with a good friend of mine."

Bruno, confused as to the relevancy of this information, remained silent.

"A certain friend of ours," she continued, "told her that I had spread a dreadful rumor. We fought out in the snow like a pair of wild hounds," she said with a laugh, "until one of our friends finally told us what happened."

With a sigh, Maria sat down in the armchair facing the window. "It turned out that it had been spread by a friend of ours who had been upset," Maria said, scratching her head. "I don't even remember why anymore."

Bruno was silent for a moment. "I don't get it," he said bluntly.

"The point is, Bruno," Maria said patiently, "That my friend fought me because she had believed what she had been told was true."

Bruno blinked. Maria smiled and said, "Your father was a victim of false information. He was told something that sounded true, and got caught up in the moment."

"So he believed that killing innocent children and families would help Germany?" Bruno struggled to hide the contempt and resentment in his voice.

"Yes. Bruno," Maria implored when she caught his expression, "your father did what he thought was right by his country. He was caught up in a whirlwind of patriotism."

"And we suffered for it," said Bruno quietly.

"Bruno –"

"He killed people," Bruno said, fighting back tears, because (and bruno always tried to be honest with himself) he didn't want to look like a child.

"Bruno," Maria began, but Bruno was too overwhelmed by emotions to let her finish.

"I spent six years living off bread crumbs and water with rat shit floating in it! He could have stopped it, you know," yelled Bruno, knowing he was going to regret yelling at Maria, but not quite caring at the moment. He was too angry; too hurt. "He could have done more. Sent in better food, clean blankets. But he was too busy 'caught up in a whirlwind of patriotism.' Fuck his patriotism!" Bruno kicked the oak desk. He began pulling out books and throwing them on the floor.

"Fuck Germany!"

BANG!

"Fuck Kotler!"

BANG!

"FUCK AUSCHWITZ!"

SLAM! Bruno had cleared off a series of shelves, and moved to the next book case.

"Six damn years – " Bruno grunted with effort as he swung another row of books off a shelf.

"-Not fair –"

THUMP!

"Shit!"

"BRUNO!" shouted Maria, "Such language!"

"I'm entitled! I want to know, " Bruno said, after he had caught his breath. "Why didn't he find me?"

"Bruno, he didn't know where you went," Maria said softly.

"Why?" Bruno's voice had reached a hysterical pitch.

"He didn't expect you to be there."

"'He didn't expect me to be there,'" mocked Bruno. "What – what? Did he think his son _too German_ to get lost in Auschwitz?"

Maria simply watched him.

" Why couldn't he find me? " Bruno insisted, his voice getting louder.

"Bruno, this isn't good for you. Calm down." Maria stood. Her eyes were frightened.

"Calm down? _Calm down? _I wasted six years of my life, Maria! Six _years! _I thought mothers were supposed to know where their children were! What happened to that?"

"Bruno, no one could have guessed –"

"Gretel did!" Bruno's voice had risen once more. "Gretel did! How come she could and those idiots couldn't?"

"Bruno," Maria said soothingly, "your parents may not have been the smartest, but I know they love you very much. They would never hurt you."

"Maria," sobbed Bruno, "I can't remember them. I can't remember them at all. It's like, like my memory was wiped clean. Nine years worth of memory," he said, more to himself then to Maria, "gone in six."

"You remember them. You just need something to trigger the memory. You've had a lot on your mind," Maria said gently. Bruno knelt to pick up the books he had thrown on the floor. Maria joined to help him, but he shooed her away.

"It's my mess," he muttered. "My fault. I'll put them back."

Maria sighed and ruffled his hair. "Bruno, it's okay to cry, you know."

He sniffled indignantly and said, "Big men don't cry, they tear."

At this, Maria laughed sadly and said, "Pardon. They tear."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

After his outburst, Bruno felt slightly better. People always said that getting things off your chest helped you feel better, and Bruno had to agree. Like he predicted however, he felt guilty because he yelled at Maria. So once he finished replacing the books, he went down to the kitchen and found her.

Her eyes were red. Bruno felt guilt hit him like a brick wall. She turned when he came in and must have seen the guilt on his face, because she quickly showed him a sliced onion and said, "I was cutting onions."

Bruno looked down at his feet.

"Bruno," she said, "If I had known – If anyone had known – "

"I'm fine, Maria. I'm…erm," Bruno felt his cheeks grow hot with shame. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. And threw books on the floor," he added as an afterthought.

Maria smiled and said, "Bruno, you're fifteen, and you've had a very hard six years. You have a right to be furious. You may think you're too old," she said, "but you'll always be the nine year old boy I knew, who hated being called 'little man'."

Bruno smiled. "I hate it when people call me little."

"We can hardly call you that anymore, Bruno," she laughed, "you've grown that tall. You're just as tall as your father."

It was true. Bruno towered over Maria's 5'5'' figure. "Any taller and I may not fit through the door."

They laughed, and just as Maria began to answer, the doorbell rang. Maria hurried to answer it.

When she returned, her face was positively glowing. "Your father is returning! He'll be here tomorrow!"

Bruno felt his heart plummet. What was he going to say?


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Do you think he should go to the doctor?"

"Of course, Maria. That's the logical answer to this."

Bruno rolled over. "Nnn."

He rolled over on his other side. _Leave me alone._

"Bruno?"

Someone grabbed his shoulder and shook him gently. He pried his eyes open and rolled onto his back. He found himself looking up at Maria, and a well kept middle aged man who seemed vaguely familiar. Vaguely.

"Bruno," said the man, "It has been so long."

Something in that deep, resonating voice triggered Bruno's memory. "Father?"

His father beamed, and he held out a hand. _Just like old times, _thought Bruno, shaking his hand. His father stood for a moment with a faltering smile, and then awkwardly put his arms around his son. Bruno returned the hug half heartedly. His father had never been much of a sentimental man back when Bruno was nine, and, in Bruno's opinion, it was too late to start now.

"Sir, would you like some breakfast?" Maria asked, smiling through tears. It seemed to Bruno as if Maria was always close to tears now. At least _some _things changed.

Bruno's father stood up and nodded. He left the room, but stopped at the door. He seemed on the verge of a sentence, but thought better of it and left.

Maria was still in the room. "Bruno," she said, speaking softly, as if she was afraid she would injure his by speaking louder, "I set some clothes out. They're your father's, and they might be a bit large, but they'll do."

Bruno nodded. "Thank you, Maria," he said, and began getting ready for breakfast.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The table was set, and when Bruno entered, the memory of Pavel and Kotler hit him like a brick wall. He stopped at the door way and found his legs heavy, too heavy to move.

Kotler. The very memory of him made Bruno want to rip someone's throat out. He remembered everything, as usual, too well. Kotler had recognized him in the camp, and did nothing to help him. Kotler had killed countless people in Auschwitz. Kotler, the bloody bastard, had kill Shmuel. At this thought, Bruno fought back a wave of nausea and anger.

"_Bruno! Help!"_

"_Shut up, Jew!" _

_Bruno watched in horror as Kotler continued to hit Shmuel with the stick._ _He wanted to help, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn't open the door, as much as he tried._

"_Bruno!"_

"_Jew!" screamed Kotler, and Bruno saw the look in his eyes as Shmuel bled out onto the floor. It was the look of someone who loved pain, the crazy look that some of the soldiers had when they shot down birds and stray dogs that wandered close to the gates of the camp._

"_Help!"_

_Kotler raised the stick over his head and brought it down on Shmuel's head. Shmuel stopped moving. He stopped screaming. Even then, Kotler continued. _

_A soldier knocked on the back door, and Bruno saw Kotler drag Shmuel by the leg to the back of the room. _

"_Sir," said the soldier," the Commandant is here."_

"_Ah, yes. We were expecting him."_

"_And the boy?"_

_At this, Kotler's tone grew sharp. "What boy?"_

_The soldier pointed at Shmuel. Kotler laughed,"Oh. Him. Get him looked at, and then send him off to work. _

"_With all due respect, Lieutenant, I think he's dead."_

"_No. These rats have more life to them than cats. Take him out."_

"_Yes sir."_

Bruno stood stock still. After that day, Bruno had snuck into the hospital building to see Shmuel, who sometimes could barely form words. Shmuel had lasted about a week .

Maria walked in and smiled at Bruno. When Bruno didn't smile back, she asked, "Bruno? Is everything alright?"

Bruno nodded and took a seat. Maria opened her mouth to say something, when Bruno's father entered with Lieutenant Kotler.

Bruno, whose hand had been shaking, stilled.

"Bruno," said his father, "Do you remember Lieutenant Kotler?"

Bruno stood. "I should," he said, "seeing as I've spent the last six years with him."

His father's smile faltered. He turned to Kotler, evidently expecting an explanation.

Kotler's eyes met Bruno's. "I don't know what he's talking about."

Bruno walked over until he was an inch away from Kotler. "Are you sure about that, scum?"

"Jew lover," hissed Kotler.

"Bruno, what's going on?"

"Oh come now, father, let's dispense with the idiocy for a moment. You know very well what happened to me, and you know very well that Kotler knows me."

"Bruno," his father said sharply,"Respect your elders."

"Shut up," snapped Bruno. He turned to Kotler. "You killed those people and enjoyed their agony."

"I did what I was ordered to do," snapped Kotler.

"So if you were ordered," said Bruno, his voice getting louder, "To…let's say, kill your best friend, you would do it – "

"I would –"

"You would do it because you were ordered to. Am I right?"

"No."

"No?" Bruno grabbed Kotler by the collar of his pressed shirt. "No? Because you didn't have a problem killing Shmuel."

Kotler's eyes widened, and then he burst into laughter. Bruno felt his stomach churn at the sound. It was like hearing the fires burning the prisoners all over again.

"Shmuel?" screamed Kotler. "_Shmuel? _ You mean that little boy I caught eating a stolen piece of bread?"

"He didn't steal it." Bruno's voice was quiet.

"So this is what it's all about! 'Shmuel'! That little rat thief!"

"Shut up." Bruno let go of Kotler's shirt and turned away. He would wait. He would wait and kill Kotler.

"You should have heard the little heeb scream. 'Help'" mocked Kotler in a high pitched voice. "'Bruno'! What a waste of life."

Bruno snatched up a glass and threw it at Kotler, who moved out of the way just in time.

"You son of a –" Bruno was cut off by his father, who had grabbed Kotler by the neck of his shirt, and, with surprising strength for a man of his years, launched him halfway across the room. Maria let out a scream and dropped her tray.

"You told me you had no idea where he was!"

Kotler looked up at Bruno's father and opened his mouth to say something, but the Commander was inconsolable. He pulled a knife from the table and turned it over in the light.

"Father-"

"Not now, Bruno," said his father. "Kotler, you've been a pain in my ass for a while now. I always knew you were a jealous bastard, but I never thought you were capable of this."

"Commandant-"

"Stop talking," ordered the commander. "How long did you know he was in Auschwitz-Birkenau?"

"I had no idea."

"Really now, Lieutenant, do you consider it prudent after you just quoted this Shmuel calling for Bruno?" The commander brought the tip of the knife close to Kotler's jugular. "Now, tell me the truth."

Kotler's eyes darted from the tip of the knife to the commander's face and back. "The day after he went missing."

Bruno started forward. He wanted Kotler dead, but he didn't want his father to do it. "Father, why don't we all just calm down and-"

"Bruno," the commander said sharply, "stay out of this."

"But Father –"

"Kotler, why didn't you tell me?"

Bruno went silent, as did Kotler, who had been muttering under his breath. "I-I don't know, sir."

"You don't _know?_ You don't _KNOW?_ Well you _must _have known," said the commander, twisting the knife dangerously, "otherwise, _why would you have allowed a pure German child to stay in the camp?"_

Kotler was quiet. Maria and Bruno held their breaths.

"Answer me, dog!" Bruno looked at his father. His father had never been very emotional, so when he saw tears welling up in his eyes, he was startled, and even a bit afraid.

"_Why did you take my son?" _Tears spilled down the old cheeks of a man regretting everything he hadn't done, everything he hadn't said.

"Commandant, I-" Kotler stopped.

"You?" The commander's voice was very quiet.

"I'm sorry."

The commander laughed a dry laugh, began to spin the knife in his hand again. "I'm sure you are. _But that doesn't bring back the six years I've lost with my son, does it?" _

Bruno now felt compelled to step in. He took the knife from his father and placed it on the table. "Get out," he said to Kotler, who willingly obeyed without another word.

After a few seconds, Bruno said, "Where's mother?"

His father turned and said, "Berlin."

Bruno nodded and said gently, "We should go find her."

"We'll leave as soon as possible," his father answered. He stood to face his son. "I'm glad you're home."

In those words, Bruno heard all he needed to hear. His father may not have apologized for what he did to those children, but now Bruno felt he could wait. His father hadn't punished him; hadn't left him there on purpose. He hadn't known. But his father wanted to make things right. And, Bruno believed, sincerely believed with all his heart, that, when his father was ready, truly ready, he would apologize for what he had done to those people.

"I'm glad I'm home too," said Bruno.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The train to Berlin was due to arrive at 11:00 AM. Bruno felt like a stranger. People stared as he passed, children hugged their mothers tightly, and the dogs steered clear.

"Don't worry about it Bruno," said Maria gently as a woman backed away from them and deliberately turned the other way. "You're still a bit thin."

Bruno tried to shrug it off, but the more they perused among the train station's shops, the more his bitterness and anger grew.

They went into a small café and sat down. Bruno played with his handkerchief, not inclined to speak with his father. One of the waiters' locked eyes with him and crossed himself hurriedly.

_And that so lamely and unfashionable that dogs bark at me as I halt by them_, thought Bruno wryly. The thought came to him like a breath of wind, and was gone as fast as it came. Bruno shook the feeling off and looked up from his lap to meet his father's inquisitive eyes.

"Bruno," his father started, but Bruno shook his head.

"Not right now."

"I'm sorry."

"I know. It's okay. Just let it go."

Ralf looked down at the napkin he had been fidgeting with. "Bruno," he began purposefully, "I didn't know. I should have –"

"I'm hungry," said Bruno evasively. Maria, who had been reading a Nietzsche book, looked up and said, "I'll go get you something. What would you like?"

"I can get it myself," said Bruno quickly.

"No," said Maria thoughtfully, "I need to go to the restroom anyway."

She left, leaving Bruno with his emotional father.

"Bruno," Ralf began, "I suppose you know –"

"That you and her separated? Yes, I know." Bruno's voice was clipped. He wanted desperately to discourage his father from pursuing the conversation any further.

There was silence. "Sometimes," began his father, determined to see things through, "things just don't work out. Your mother and I, we didn't have what it took to see your mistake through – "

"My mistake?" echoed Bruno sharply. "My _mistake? _What the fuck do you mean, 'my mistake'?"

"Bruno, watch your language."

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"You know," snapped his father, "All of those words don't make you seem any more of a man."

"See?" yelled Bruno. "And that's your fucking problem. You have your 'Man Guide' shoved so far up your ass that you can't even fart right."

"Bruno!"

"So, did it ever occur to you that I might have gotten lost?"

"Watch your tone."

"Answer my question."

"_Watch your tone."_

"Answer. My. Question."

His father's eyes narrowed. Bruno clenched his fists over the edge of the table. Heads turned.

"What happened?" asked Bruno, now being deliberately viscious. "Did your patriotism keep you from entering the camp? Your fucking German pride?"

Bruno's father was silent.

Six years' worth of pent up frustration burst forth. " You know what, _father_, tell me about this German pride. Come on. Don't be shy."

"We made a mistake," yelled Ralf.

"You sure did," roared Bruno, "A couple million lives worth."

"It was for the country –"

"Oh. Shoving babies into ovens, killing fathers, raping mothers and sisters, starving sons – all for Germany."

"We didn't think it would go so far." Bruno's father stood up. Bruno remained in his seat.

"See, that's your problem. You don't think. You act."

"That's enough. I won't have anymore of this. We raised you better."

"Who?" Now Bruno stood up. "_You? _Don't forget about the six years you weren't there to teach me how to be a good German."

"You insolent little-" spat his father furiously. "Why, I ought to- you- I can't believe your nerve. I'm helping you – "

"You're a bit late for that, aren't you?"

Everyone in the café was silent. Bruno walked out, but not before stopping at the door to have his last word. "You ruined our lives. _Father," _he spat.

"Bruno!" His father ran after him. "Where are you going?"

Bruno kept walking.

"I'm not going after you!"

"Well I am!" Maria caught up with Bruno. They walked in silence, their footsteps making little slapping sounds on the pavement. They took a seat and watched the 11 o'clock train roll in lazily onto the platform.

"Oh Bruno," Maria sighed after a moment. "Bruno, Bruno, Bruno."

Tears burned his eyes, but he let them dry there. He wasn't a baby. He needed to suck it up. There was a large, hot lump in his throat, and he didn't know how to get it out. Feeling suddenly weak and tired, he laid his head on Maria's shoulder. The train chugged out slowly, and as Bruno watched, a sense of lost time overwhelmed him, threatened to overtake him.

Maria stroked his hair and sighed. "You and your father are so alike. You've both got very short tempers, and very quick guilt."

Bruno stayed silent. Maria looked down at him and smiled sadly. Her wrinkled face bore all the kindness he needed at the moment. "Do you want to go back?"

He shook his head.

"Come on. Let's wait for your father at home."

"It's not home."

She patted his head and said sadly, "It's all you've got, for now."

"For now."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Bruno lay on the couch in the parlor room, talking to Maria, who was sitting in one of the chairs stitching up a hole in a pair of pants.

"Maria," Bruno said, "Where is Pavel?"

Maria was silent. She continued to sow as if she'd heard nothing, until Bruno repeated his question.

"Burned."

Bruno propped himself up on one elbow and gazed at her, confused. She looked back at him. It took a while it to sink in, but when it did, Bruno dropped his elbow and looked up at the ceiling. "No. Pavel was Jewish?"

"Yes." Maria heaved a heavy sigh. The room was silent, but pregnant with the questions neither of them would ask. Bruno desperately wanted to know what had gone on between them. He had often seen them talking when he was a child, and he had often entertained the notion that perhaps Pavel and Maria were lovers.

"Maria – "

"No, Bruno," she responded sharply, "we were not lovers."

Bruno looked down and fidgeted with a loose string on the couch. He still couldn't let go of the notion. He struggled to bring back a clear picture of them. He couldn't remember them anymore. He remembered the idea, but not the memories. This lack of memory brought him new sadness. He rolled over to face the back of the couch.

"We had _something _though," Maria said, pensively. Bruno rolled back on his back.

"What happened? I mean," he added, "other then, you know…" His voice trailed off into silence.

"Well," Maria said, and for a moment, she dropped her stitching, "We were good friends. Alright," she amended after Bruno gave her a skeptical look, "we were very good friends."

She stopped. Bruno waited a moment, then, when she didn't resume her story, said, "Well? What happened?"

"He was sent to a camp somewhere in the country."

"By who? Was it Kotler?"

At that moment, Ralf stormed in.

"You! You have a lot of nerve, boy, embarrassing me like that. You –"

Maria stepped in and said, "Sir, he's just a boy. He's prone to things like this. He –"

Ralf quelled her with a look. "Maria, don't make me regret helping you. Please retire to your room."

Maria hovered for a moment, then left, squeezing Bruno's shoulder as she left. Bruno wanted to tell her to stay, wanted to tell her he'd feel better if she stood next to him, but he remained silent. He would not play the weak. Not in front of his father; not in front of anyone.

Maria paused at the door, and turned to say something, but shut it with a slam when Ralf snapped, "Out!"

Bruno, who still lay on the couch, felt a wave of apprehension. What was going to happen to him? He had nowhere to go. What if he was kicked out? With a shudder, he thought of the cold alleyways and wet streets he'd be forced to wander for the rest of his life.

Suddenly furious with himself for his thoughts, he resolved to leave with dignity and do his best to find his mother. After all, he was still an explorer.

His father looked down at him. Ralf rubbed his face, exhausted. "Bruno," he said, "I'm sorry."

"You keep saying that."

"You're pushing me away. I don't want that to happen."

"Then don't let it happen."

Bruno kept his voice curt. Ralf brought a chair over and sat down. "I can't say I understand what you went through. I understand what it felt like to watch. But not to feel. So, that being said, I'm sorry about what I said. I was angry, and so were you. "

Bruno was silent.

"I hope we can be as close as we used to be."

"We weren't close."

"Fine. But maybe we can fix that."

"Maybe." Bruno's reply was short. He hoped it would make his father go away. Bruno held no rancor, but he had trouble trusting a man who had knowingly sent children to their deaths in Auschwitz.

Ralf was silent for a moment. "Bruno, you should go get some rest."

"I'm not tired." But the first strings of sleep began to tug at his eyes.

"Alright. Well, I'll send for your mother tomorrow, and you can wait for her here. It shouldn't take more than a week for her to arrive. Maybe we could go into the city, and I could show you around."

Bruno yawned involuntarily. "Unh huh…" and he fell asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

When Bruno woke, he found himself back in his attic room. He sat up sharply, still unaccustomed to his new bedroom. He rubbed his eyes and rolled out onto his feet.

His father had apologized. He remembered that. How come he couldn't grasp it?

He rubbed his eyes again. _I don't believe him. _Bruno went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth. All the while, he stared straight into his own eyes, as if interrogating himself.

_Why can't I believe him? _ He searched himself for an answer, and, lacking one, shoved it aside and got ready for breakfast.

The table was set, and his father was already there, eating. Bruno heard his father and Maria conversing.

" – He's a grown boy. He can handle it."

"Ralf, don't you think it's too much for him?"

"Not at all. I think he'd like to learn."

"_You_ think so. Did you ask him?"

"Of course, Maria."

Bruno searched his mind. _Asked me what?_

"Liar."

"Maria. Let's not get so melodramatic. The boy –"

"Look at the state he's in!"

"Keep your voice down!" said Ralf, for Maria's voice had risen close to a scream.

Maria lowered her voice and said, "You can't teach him that. I won't allow it."

Ralf laughed. "_You _won't allow it? What's the matter with you? He's not your son, he's mine."

"It didn't look like it at the train station yesterday."

There was a clatter, and the sound of a chair scratching the floor. Bruno jumped slightly, and stifled a gasp. He moved closer to the dining room, and stood in the shadows, where he could see them and they could not see him.

Ralf had stood up from the table. His face was angry, cold. Maria faced him on the other side, her face equally as furious.

"I'll not have you giving orders in my house. Especially since I pay you."

"You ought to care more about Bruno! All you care about is your uniform, and soldiers, and-and guns! Why not start him back on his studies? That would help him a lot more than a –"

"Enough! You order me around in my own house, you try to put me out of favor in Bruno's mind, and I let you! But when you question my love for _my _son, you cross the line. Pack your –"

Bruno stepped in quickly, forcing a beaming smile on his face.

"Good morning! What's wrong? I heard raised voices."

"Bruno," Maria said, her eyes still frigid and locked on Ralf's, "did we wake you? Sit down and have some breakfast."

"I can get it," said Bruno quickly.

"No, no. I can do it."

Maria walked out, but not before giving Bruno a warm hug and Ralf a deadly glare. Ralf sat down slowly and took another bite out of his eggs. He chewed slowly, his eyes still narrowed at the empty doorway where Maria left.

"Good morning," repeated Bruno.

Ralf's eyes slowly met his. His eyes narrowed shrewdly, and he said, "You were listening, weren't you?"

Bruno began to say no, but when his father sat back with a knowing smirk on his face, he sighed and nodded.

"Hm," his father said as he regarded Bruno thoughtfully.

After a moment of silence punctuated by pots and pans banging loudly in the kitchen, Bruno asked, "What did you supposedly ask me?"

Ralf laughed, embarrassed, and began to speak, but a loud _BANG! _from the kitchen had him standing up quickly.

Maria burst into the dining room, her blond hair falling out of its bun, her face red with fury. "I knew it!"

She waved the pan in her hand furiously. "Oh, I knew it. I _knew _you were lying."

Ralf walked over and took hold of the pan. "Maria, relax. "

"You're not teaching him that barbarity."

"I'll teach him what I want."

"Not while I'm here."

There was silence. Bruno felt a curious wave of something, but he didn't quite know what. It came from looking at the two of them, arguing over something that involved him. It gave Bruno an intense desire to laugh and cry.

He decided to laugh.

It came first as a chuckle, then as a laugh, then as a loud guffaw.

Maria and Ralf looked at him curiously, and then began to smile. When Bruno finished, he said, "What am I supposed to be learning?"

Maria rolled her eyes. "Your studies."

Ralf sighed. "How to shoot."

Bruno laughed again. "That's what you two are arguing about? How about I do both?"

Maria looked down at her feet. Ralf scratched his head. They nodded, and Maria snatched her pan back, obviously trying to stay angry at Ralf.

Bruno turned to his father and said, "When do I get a gun?"


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Bruno followed his father out into the field. His heart thumped with anticipation.

"Now Bruno," his father began, "I'm not going to start today. I just want to show you the terrain. Then, I'm going to take you out to the town, so you can re-assimilate."

"Re-assimilate?"

His father glanced at him and said, "Get used to living in society again."

Bruno looked down at his feet. He wasn't ready. Society wasn't ready. He remembered his reflection on his plate, the way people stared at the train station, and his heart sank with the knowledge that he'd never really seem human again.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and his eyes met his father's.

"Bruno," his father said, "you can do this. You always wanted to be an explorer. This is a part of exploration."

Bruno nodded. "I guess."

"Now, look around you." Bruno looked around, confused as to his father's meaning. "Listen closely," his father said quietly. Bruno listened, but heard nothing.

"I don't hear anything."

Bruno's father smiled and said, "In time, you will."

Bruno nodded and said, "I sure hope so."

His father gave him a shrewd look, then briskly stated, "We're leaving in ten minutes, so go inside and get ready. And," as an afterthought," you need some new clothes."

Bruno rolled his eyes and went inside.

----------------------------------------------------

Bruno, Maria, and Ralf made their way through the crowd quickly. This was due to Bruno's startling gauntness. Bruno's unease grew as people dart aside on the street to avoid walking past him. Bruno's father, however, appeared not to notice.

The first shop they went into was a clothing store. Bruno felt himself growing slightly nauseated as Maria held up bright colored ties. He watched as his father and Maria bickered gently over what size shirt he was.

"Maria," his father said exasperatedly, "I know what I'm doing. I've been doing this for years."

"But the sleeves are so wrong! Ralf, we can't have him wear this."

Ralf rolled his eyes. "I'm buying it. We can have a tailor mend it for him."

Maria pursed her lips and said, "Fine."

Bruno left the store laden with bags. Maria and Ralf, worrying about his strength, insisted on carrying them. Bruno let them, reluctantly. He didn't like being pitied or helped. He often wondered if he even deserved it. After all, when his friend needed his help most, he deserted him.

When thoughts like these came to him, Bruno found himself walking faster, with more intent. It gave him an anxiety he couldn't place. As if there was something he needed to do, some forgotten task that lay deep in the clutter of his thoughts.

"Bruno!"

Bruno jumped at the sound of his name. He turned sharply, almost tripping a tiny child who was walking past.

Maria waved and signaled for him to go to her.

"Oh, Bruno," she said smiling, "Look. Isn't this the prettiest little bookstore you'll ever see?"

Bruno did not answer; he was mesmerized by the angel stacking books on shelves.

"Bruno?"

Still, he remained entranced by the medley of color in her hair, the way her delicate fingers wrapped around the spines of the hardcovers she was placing on shelves.

"What are you looking at? Bruno?" Maria shook his arm. Then, when he pointed, she grinned. "Oh."

Bruno swallowed. She was beautiful. Such a pretty picture. Until the boy handing her books helped her down. It was a simple gesture, but nonetheless, he felt his heart grow heavy with bitterness. She was beautiful, a nymph, a goddess; he, nothing more than a gaunt ghost floating aimlessly on the street, just another passerby.

When he told this to Maria, she shook her head and said, "Nonsense. Go in and talk to her."

Bruno shook his head, and just as he started to respond, his father walked over.

"Hey, Bruno, I just – what's the matter?" His father looked from Maria to Bruno. Maria began to tell him, but Bruno cut her off.

"Nothing. Just wondering if we should start heading back. You know, it's getting late."

"Yes," his father said slowly, exchanging glances with Maria. "Yes it is. Let's head back."

Bruno followed behind Maria and Ralf as they went on their way. He nodded in response to their comments, seemingly interested, but in his mind, the girl at the bookstore swam in his mind, her hair shining and glimmering more than ever, and her hands soft and sweet on her books.

_Phaedra. I'll call her Phaedra. _


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Bruno lay awake on his mattress in the attic. A small smile played on his lips and put dimples in his thin cheeks. He stared up at the ceiling, but saw nothing except Phaedra. He replayed the scene over for the fiftieth time: Phaedra stacking books, with her hair dazzling in the light, delicate fingers holding books. Then, when he saw her helped down, he rolled over on his side, again, for the fiftieth time.

_Phaedra. _How did he think of that name? He thought back to the scene again, and in his memory, he looked at the books. They were hazy and vague, but he hoped his memory would prove to be useful. One minute passed, then two, then five, and still no answer. Disappointed, Bruno rolled over again to stare into the dark wall of his room. Sleepless still, he went to the window and looked out over the collapsing tops of buildings in Auschwitz. Memories flooded his mind, making his vision swim. He balled his hands into fists, digging his nails into the cold, weak flesh of his palm, hoping, begging the pain to distract him from his demons. He tore his eyes away from the window, and lay in his bed, finally drifting off into a troubled sleep.

In his dream, he floated above Auschwitz, his hand outstretched, reaching towards something. There was a light, and he felt himself flying faster. Then, he saw a figure. A bird. No. A snake? No.

_Phaedra. _The word echoed like a song, a whispered promise.

_Phaedra. _

Her hair glistened, billowing in the nonexistent wind. Her eyes were sapphires, her lips two drops of ruby. Her skin was pale, like milk. Smile played upon her lips. Bruno felt his heart exalting, he could hear it thumping.

_Phaedra._

He called her name. She was now close enough to touch. She smiled, and her mouth formed the word "_Bruno." _ A pearly hand caressed his cheek.

He recoiled. Her breath was rancid. The hand was flaking, and her cheeks thinning. Her hair turned brown and fell away. Her eyes sunk in, and her lips lost their vitality. Her breath smelled like blood.

A rattling sound came from her throat, and, as her mouth formed the 'o' in "Bruno", a large worm emerged, slimy, pink, with a mouthful of teeth.

Bruno screamed, and woke, mid scream. A sheen of cold sweat drenched his forehead. His hand shook violently as he wiped it away. He turned sharply towards the window, expecting to see the ghostly specter of his dream floating towards him; cold, bony limbs outstretch trying to take him into its arms. All he saw was the sun rising over his windowsill.


	15. Chapter 15

Bruno took a deep breath and pushed the door open. He was instantly hit with the earthy, ancient smell of paper that puffed from the opening of volumes of books in the Argosy Bookstore. For a moment, his mind reeled with fleeting images of memories that he could have sworn had been burned away with years of more pressing and haunting visions. He quelled the notions, and marched to the sound of his frantic heart, marched to the wingless Nike poised on the top of a wooden ladder. Her delicate fingers barely touched the covers of the books, and Bruno felt stunned by the sparkling of the light on her nails. His heart stopped; he floated to the foot of the ladder, and struck by the sudden impulse to scramble up the wooden rungs and rescue the princess from her base labor, he gripped the ladder and placed a foot on the bottom rung. What gave him pause was the deep, lazy curve of her back as she reached as far as she could to place a thick, dusty leather bound book.

Bruno took a deep breath, and he caught a hint of her scent. He swayed, dazed by her radiance, her presence, and, certain that he must save her, must carry her to the sanctuary of his home, he began to climb.

The slick soles of his shoes slipped over the rung, and he stumbled. His eyes locked on hers as he hit the floor and she turned in shock. Her hair swung across her cheek and lips in a whirlwind of invisible fire, and Bruno's breath caught. Unable to speak, he reached out as she lost her grip and fell, like Lucrece, whips of fabric bustling about her in slow motion as his enthralled mind suspended her in mid-air.

She fell on him, forcing his breath out of him. He would have cried out, whether in fear, or pleasure, he was not sure – for fear of frightening her.

And then she looked at him – really looked – and she recoiled. "God!"

Both scrambled to their feet, flushed – he with shame, she with the shock of the fall.

Bruno heard his feet slamming down on the carpeted floor, but couldn't tear his eyes off her. The young man rushed to her side, and, as if unaware of the specter his friend had mesmerized, proceeded, "What's wrong, Emma? Are you hurt?"

Emma brushed his hands off of her in irritation. "Yes, yes. I'm fine. Ambros, I'm fine."

Ambros seemed satisfied with that answer, and turned to Bruno. "What?"

Bruno's mouth opened and closed for a few moments, then he turned and fled. He'd be right on time for his father's lessons.


End file.
